


A Look into the Universe

by g00dproblemstohave



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Flirting, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hunk is a bartender, Keith works in a flowershop, M/M, One Shot, but he is only mentioned like once I'm so sorry, im sorry i know nothing of getting a tattoo, klance, lance is a smoking boy!!, lance is a tattoo artist!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g00dproblemstohave/pseuds/g00dproblemstohave
Summary: "The Flower is the Stem's Cry of Beauty to the Universe" --Vassilis Comporozos





	A Look into the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about getting a tattoo, so sorry for all the mistakes!
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments about anything! Positive or negative welcome!

You know what sucks more than anything?

People.

Angsty, I know, but think about it. What causes the most strife and chaos in our everyday lives? People. Big shocker, right? Before us, the world was peaceful and much less dramatic. If you find out that dinosaurs had their own version of “Keeping up with the Kardashians”, let me know.

But really, in all seriousness, people are inconvenient. It’d be better if we just weren’t around. Especially when you’re late to work, and the only thing stopping you is the flood of people who seem determined to keep you from where you’re going.

My messenger bag bumped into the swarm with every jogging step, each time receiving a dirty look and sideways glance. I ignored every one, instead coming up with reasons for why they’d need to call the shop.

“Hey, I forgot my wedding anniversary.”

“I forgot a dinner date.”

“I forgot my girlfriend’s Christmas Roast was in the oven.”

Okay, so that last one hasn’t happened… yet. It always surprises me that every passing face has a weird story, one that’s likely to be so similar yet so strikingly different to yours that you crave a relation of some kind, even if it’s unbridled hatred.

“Hey, Keith!” one of the cheeriest, yet most taunting voices I’ve ever heard greeted me with the first ounce of positivity I’d received that day.

Motherfucker.

Speaking of unbridled hatred, there’s that face. That stupid face. Lance McClain. Just as I could start to slow down, that face decides to pop up. Lightly tanned, splattered with faint freckles, a nose that just barely points up, a narrow jaw with sharp lines. Not like I would be able to avoid it all day. I sighed, looking down and trying to ignore the sweat threatening the edges of my hairline.

I unlocked the door to the shop and flipped the ‘closed’ sign to ‘open’. Fortunately, Lance and I worked directly next door to each other. What a coincidence.

As always, the pungent aroma inside the Flower Shop hit me as soon as I stepped inside, hitting the little bell atop the doorframe. It was so bright, filled with arrangements I had organized the previous day. And the day before that. And the day before that.

I sighed again, letting my bag flop off my shoulder and plop onto the hook next to the door. “Keith? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Shiro!” I shouted to the back, taking off my red flannel and hanging it. “Sorry I’m late, my bike wasn’t starting.”

Shiro came out from the back already in his green apron with a brown glove covered in dirt. He smirked as he asked, “this is the same bike you were trying to fix this last weekend?”

“She’s got problems.”

He laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at myself too. How ridiculous is that?

I went behind the counter and checked the register, counting the money quickly before making a quick note on an old receipt and shoving it into my pocket. “Has anyone tried to come in?”

“No one comes in without ordering online or over the phone,” Shiro sounded almost depressed. “Do you wanna work the outdoor displays and I’ll manage the register?”

I raised an eyebrow at him while I turned around to grab my own apron and drape the neck strap over my head. “Manage the outdoor displays? I only do indoor.”

“Yeah, well I’m the boss so…”

When I turned to look at him, he had the most obnoxious smile on his face. His face. All manly angles and just essentially… Wow. The one oddity about him, or rather, the several that came in the same package, were the scars.

Shiro had served in the Marine Corps for about three years when he’d been caught in an explosion. He lost his arm and was left with several obvious pink bumps along his face, neck, and torso. They weren’t too obvious, and he was obviously embarrassed enough to cover them with makeup. He pretended he didn’t, but Keith had seen him during his break applying it.

He replaced his arm with a prosthetic, and his remaining one… to use an understatement, it’s a canvas for ink. Tattoos layered it top to bottom, some overlapping and interweaving with each other, even peeking up on the side of his neck.

All of which had been done at the shop next door. Or should I say, the ‘parlor’.

Stupid Lance.

“Um…” I snapped out of my train of thought, running a quick hand through my hair and tying it into a ponytail. “Yeah, I can do the outdoor displays.”

“Are you okay, Keith? You were out of it for a second there.” Shiro did look concerned, and at that I couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” I walked out past him and reached up to ring the little bell with my finger before walking out, making it ring again. Outside the flowers were already there, but they had been catastrophically disorganized. It was like this every day. Sometimes kids would grab one and put it back in the wrong pot or basket.

Kids. Also pretty inconvenient. But, also pretty hilarious.

“Keith!”

Motherfucker!

“Do you wait outside just so you can talk to me, Lance?” I tried to use my best snarky voice, but that risks sounding horrifically brutal or incredibly flirtatious. To this day, I have no idea how he interpreted it.

“You know I do, Mullet.” He grinned, crossing his sleeved arms over his chest. Stupid white teeth. Stupid face. “So why’re you working outside today?”

“I could ask you the same thing… McClain.”

Can’t even think of a comeback to Mullet. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Well, Allura is the only one with clients right now.” It was at that moment I noticed the cigarette dangling between two of his fingers. “So, I thought it would be easier to breathe out here.”

With a strange sense of protectiveness, I moved my body between the flowers and Lance. “Mhm.”

You wanna know what would really help you breathe easier?

Not smoking, that’s for sure! Because doesn’t everyone love sharing clean air? I know I do!

“Where’s your bike?”

I turned around, my hand wrapped around two sunflowers as I shifted them to a lower basket. “My… bike?”

“Yeah, your bike, you know the one you vroom to work on,” he mimicked revving the engine, even holding imaginary handlebars out in front of him.

“Vroom?” I repeated, puzzled. Who the hell vroom vrooms? What does that even mean!? Seriously, using that in verbal conversation-

“Doesn’t matter,” his voice was dejected as he flicked embers down to the ground. “Did it break?”

“None of your business.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see him staring at me, not moving as I shuffled flowers around.

“Sorry,” he finally shrugged.

Stupid face. Stupid face. Stupid face.

I looked at the flowers. If you look closely enough, flowers have faces too. Some are happy, some are sad, and some feel like they’re trapped in a distant memory that haunts them forever.

Flowers can be pretty depressing.

“She wouldn’t start this morning,” I replied quietly, bringing four orange roses together in a vase of Lobelias.

“She? Your girlfriend wouldn’t start so you walked?” He seemed confused on multiple levels, leaning against the brick wall that separated the concrete of our differing shops.

“The bike, not my girlfriend. She wouldn’t start.”

“Oh, so you have a girlfriend?”

I looked over my shoulder at his shit eating grin, yet I didn’t look into the fullness it lacked. “No, I don’t!” My voice was firm and starting to raise in volume.

“Geez, just kidding.”

“Don’t you have work to do with your little gun anyway?” I asked, walking to the other side of the awning.

Now it was his turn to get agitated. “Not a gun- a machine.”

“It’s shaped like a gun.” I retorted, grabbing a watering can from the ground and filling it from the outdoor hose. “So… a gun.”

He tossed his cigarette into an ashtray on his windowsill, then walked to the door of his shop. “Bye, Keith.” The annoyed look on his face almost made me regret what I said, then I remembered all the times he’d called me Mullet. Same thing.

The bell on their door rang a few times before stopping entirely. Annoying. I started putting water in the vases and dripping it on the stems of those in baskets. Stay hydrated!

I snorted at my own thoughts, trying to remember the last time I’d actually drunk a glass of water instead of coffee. Still… that face. Lance’s face. It’s just so memorable and so irritating. It’s like a stamp in my brain, one that kind of itches and annoys me, but I can’t forget it…  
Is that what a metaphor is supposed to be? Or is that a simile?

“Keith!”

I flinched, spilling water onto the cement. I sighed in disdain at the darkened patch.

“Yeah, Shiro?”

He was hanging off the door by his arm. “How’s it going?”

“Good.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Positive?”

“Actually, now that you mention it, a deranged woman came and told me that I was the savior of a small town she had invented in her mind, and that I could pilot a robotic housecat that combined with a bunch of other housecats to make a man that defends the entire universe.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Then opened it again, then closed it. He raised both eyebrows in satisfaction, and let the door close slowly before walking back into the shop.

 

~~~~~

 

“Keith, it’s getting warmer, you should try to vary your wardrobe a bit,” Shiro commented as he flipped the sign and locked the door. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you at least used different clothes for the same look…”

“I do too! I have three different red flannels!” I defended myself righteously, cradling said flannel in my arms.

“They aren’t different if they are the exact same design!”

“If you like a shirt, you should always buy more than one so you can always have that shirt available!”

“Ever heard of laundry!?”

“It’s so much easier to just have more shirts.”

Shiro looked like he wanted to argue, but gave up.

Yeah, that’s right. Punk.

“You sure you don’t need a ride home?”

“Yeah, thanks though, Shiro.”

He smiled and nudged my shoulder before walking off to his black Jeep Wrangler parked on the side of the road. “Get home safe!”

“You too!”

Just as his car door closed, another door opened. Another door which happened to be the door that was next door.

Need I say, Mother. Fucker.

“Hey, Keith.”

I flicked my hand with the minimal effort required to wave.

He lit a cigarette and let it dangle from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling.

Smiling.

Smiling.

I smiled back.

Wait shit, no I didn’t.

The smile dropped off my face faster than you could say, “I think my girlfriend doesn’t feel the same way anymore, I need a $60 floral arrangement to fix my problems.”

Anyway.

“You walking home?” he asked, the flimsy noodle of worldly destruction moving with his words.

“That’s the plan.” I gripped onto the strap across my chest.

“Want a ride?” 

I stared at him with wide eyes. “A ride?”

He looked expectant. “Yeah, want one?”

“Isn’t your…” I wanted to say shop, but I couldn’t say after all the times Lance had corrected me, which also kept me from saying Parlor and giving him the satisfaction- “Work open for another few hours?”

“It’s been slow today, Allura wouldn’t mind if I hopped out.”

Hopped… out.

What?

“Yes or no, Flower Boy,” he teased, spinning a key ring around his finger.

I tried to think of a reason to say no.

Oh, the night sky sure is beautiful tonight, look at the stars, I think I’d rather walk.

Yeah. Good one, Keith.

“Actually, I uh… kind of wanted to walk… the stars,” I coughed awkwardly, avoiding eye-contact entirely, “are really pretty tonight.”

Lance looked up, and the moonlight caught those angles on his face and for a moment, the briefest moment, I could’ve sworn the whole universe existed in his smile. His freckles seemed to absorb the stars and his eyes became planets, and his nose was a ridge in an asteroid belt and-

“You’re right, they are,” he mumbled.

Stupid Keith.

I shook my head back and forth, trying to shake the image out of my head. Stupid face.

“Can I walk with you, then?”

“W-what?” I stuttered, nearly choking on my own spit. Lance was looking at me with such… happiness? He looked excited?

Excited?

To walk with me?

What did he see in my face?

Would he see a wilted flower? Or one still budding? Someone panicked? Someone anxious, maybe excited too?

I was suddenly overcome with the desire to know what Lance saw in my face.

“Flower boy,” he said with a questioning voice. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Yeah, fine.”

“So, I can walk with you?” He had another look of expectancy, and not the pregnant kind.

Of course not the pregnant kind. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Keith?” Lance genuinely looked concerned as he took a step toward me, and from the mere shock of being pulled from my thoughts, I flinched.

Lance paused in his tracks, his cigarette drooping lowly out of his mouth, the embers dying out. Smoke puffed from his lips. His face looked hurt.

“I didn’t know I scare you…” The planets in his eyes were sad. His face… “Sorry, um…” he dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to bother you-“

That face…

“No!” I shouted, pretty much way too loudly. “No, I didn’t… I wasn’t… Not you, I was just all in,” I motioned to my head, “here, and then you were all,” I motioned in front of me, “here…”

Lance raised an eyebrow, and I have no idea if he was confused or amused. Two very similar, yet very different emotions.

Similar enough that they rhyme, I guess.

Not again, Keith…

“Yeah, um…”

Wait what?

“Yeah, you can walk with me.”

What am I saying?

He grinned.

That stupid… that face…

“Great, I can just pick up my car tomorrow.” He crammed his keys into his pocket.

Holy shit, what did I just do?

“So where do you live?”

“What?”

Lance shrugged, both his hands tucked into the pockets of his down vest. “Just curious, since I’ll be walking there.”

Okay, so.

The difference between walking with someone and walking someone home. One is platonic. Probably. I mean, just a casual stroll while glancing at the beautiful night sky with someone who physically embodies the universe. No big deal.

But someone walking you home? Romance. Totally romantic. After a dinner or a long date. Waltzing through a park, which is totally not on the way home and kissing under the moon while romantic Italian music plays in the background after sharing a plate of spaghetti and almost slurping the same noodle and NO I have not seen Lady and the Tramp too many times!

Am I supposed to offer him wine at my house? I don’t know if I have any wine? Do I even want to invite him inside? If I do that then does he think I’m trying to hook up with him? Oh God, is this even a date? What if he’s just being friendly? I mean, he’s a friendly guy…

“Hello? Earth to Keith,” Lance waved a hand over my eyes, and at this point I had no idea he’d even gotten so close to me. “Hey, you sure you’re okay to walk home? For real, I’m actually a little worried. You’ve zoned out, like, four times.”

“Three,” I corrected quietly, my fingers turning white from the grip on my bag’s strap.

“Okay… three times…”

He stared at me quizzically, analyzing me with every ounce of attention he had. It made me squirm. I felt warm and sweaty and kind of really uncomfortable.

Then, the corner of his mouth twitched up, and he chuckled to himself. “You’re so…”

“Weird, strange, awkward, odd, absent, anti-social, introverted, yeah I know.” The words spewed out before I could stop them. My feet began to move before I think I told them too, but another set of footsteps were quick to follow. “I mean why would anyone sane work in a flower shop in the first place? You just sit around all day surrounded by pollen and petals and colors and bugs get stuck in the shop all the time and can’t find their way out-“

“Sounds horrible.”

“It is! They’re stuck in there and then they think they’re home but they’re not and they’re just pollinating dead plants and eating dead things and then they die in the store!”

“Terrible, really.”

I looked over at him, and he was smirking.

Bastard.

“You know,” Lance was definitely amused now, “I was going to say pretty.”

Hot. Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, hot. My face was hot. H-O-T hot.

“Is it healthy to turn so red, Flower boy?” he teased, pulling out a box of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Does it happen often?”

“Shut up, McClain,” I grumbled. My palms felt sweaty. Hot, hot, hot.

He laughed and pulled out a lighter, flicking a flame and lighting the end. He blew out some smoke, and part of it hit my nose.

You know, I wonder if kissing someone who smokes tastes like kissing an ashtray.

Wait.

What the fuck, Keith?

Kissing Lance?

No way.

Ha.

Good Joke.

Fuck.

“So, the only thing you do is arranging flowers?” he asked with that smirk. 

That face…

“I do other stuff too…”

“Really? At the shop?”

“No,” I started hesitantly. “All I do at the shop is register and displays.”

“What else is there to do at a flower shop?”

I laughed out loud, and I swear, there was some pride in his face.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“What do you do outside the flower shop then?”

“Well…” He seemed genuinely curious, and it made my cheeks fade from red to pink. I couldn’t even use the cold as an excuse. “I like painting. Water color is one of my favorites.”

Shock.

His face was shocked.

The street was white noise in the back of my head as the two of us walked, and for once I didn’t feel the inconvenience of people.  
“No way, I never would’ve guessed you were artistic at all.”

I scoffed. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, not like that, just… you just…” It looked like there was something he wanted to say that he didn’t want to at the same time and it made me way more confused than amused. But I didn’t press it.

“I also like comic books. And I collect herbal teas.”

“Wait, hold up.” Lance stopped in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You collect….”

“Herbal teas,” I finished.

“Herbal teas?”

“Herbal teas.”

“Aren’t all teas herbal?”

I rolled my eyes. “Amateur…”

Lance’s mouth gaped open and he sputtered to find reason in my lunacy.

Yeah. Lunacy. I admit it.

“Why do you collect tea!?”

“I like drinking tea!”

“But if you collect it you don’t drink it!”

“But I do drink it! I buy different kinds in bulk and drink it!”

Lance snorted, laughing his ass off as we continued moving. I grinned. I grinned so big I didn’t even notice the cracking of the dry skin on my lips. I didn’t even notice that I was grinning at all.

“You’re not a tea collector, you’re a fucking hoarder!”

I let go of the strap of my messenger bag.

“Oh yeah? Well what do you do for fun, McLame?”

“McLame?”

“I said it!”

Our grins challenged each other, both white, both a bit too wide to be friendly.

Friendly.

Was this friendly?

It’s just a walk home. No spaghetti involved.

“If you must know, I like playing video games, I do a lot of coloring books, and I enjoy sketching.”

“People?” I asked, my eyes glued to the universe beside me.

“Anything.” He didn’t notice. He was looking ahead, above, below, just about anywhere but me. “Sometimes on days off, I go to the park and just… draw someone. Make up a story about who they are, what they’re doing, things they’d get tattooed on their body or things they’d say to their dog to make them wag their tail…” Lance trailed off.

Then he looked over, and met my eyes. My eyes… His eyes…

I looked away.

He was still looking, I could feel it burning into the side of my face.

I looked back.

He was smiling softly.

“I’ve sketched you, you know.”

I coughed, this time, finally, choking on my spit. Bound to happen with all the shit he’s been pulling out of his ass.  
“Shit, are you okay!?”

I held up a hand to assure I was completely fine, thanks, and finished my hacking fit with dramatic flair, patting my chest a few times.  
“You know, if you want someone to think you’re stalking them, the first thing you say is that you’ve randomly sketched them before.”

“Well, we’ve been working next door to each other for months now, it’s not like we’re strangers!”

“Oh, because ‘almost sort of co-workers’ counts as a personal relationship?” I snapped at him, but by the smirk on his face, I knew he could tell I was making fun of him.

“Fine. What’s your middle name?”

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to be personal, let’s be personal.” He blew out another puff of smoke. “Mine’s Charles.”

“Akira,” I said simply.

“Huh. Don’t hear that every day.”

“Why do you smoke?” I asked bluntly.

He coughed, and this time I had to ask if he was okay.

“Fine, fine. Yeah, I’m good.” He was holding the cigarette in his hand now, looking at it distantly. “A bad habit I never got rid of, I guess.”

“My Dad used to smoke,” I admitted.

Did I just say that?

Keith, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

“Used to? Did he quit?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Oh…”

Way to go, Keith, now we’re walking awkwardly because you opened your fucking mouth. Dammit.

“You know, I think you’d be a good person to help me with something.”

I snorted at him, moving my hands to clasp onto the strap. “With what?”

“Quitting.”

“Quitting smoking?”

“No, quitting my job at the tattoo parlor… Yes, smoking!”

“I…” he seemed to be joking, but to me this was if someone had gotten their life into a physical object and placed it in my hands. “What… do you want me to do?”

“Let’s make a bet, because I always work better with competition.”

Surprising.

“If I can go the night without smoking, then you have to get a tattoo tomorrow from me.”

“One night? That’s not… that much… Definitely not equivalent to a tattoo…” Keith, stop before you say something stupid- “But if you want to give me a tattoo, just ask.”

How the hell did we get from middle names to me getting a tattoo? I’ve never gotten a tattoo. I barely even know Lance and I’m giving him the opportunity to permanently ink my skin. The universe leaving a mark on my skin. Wow. Alright.

Smoke puffed out again, but this time in a smaller cloud. He looked thoughtful. “In that case, do you want to design it, or should I surprise you?”

What even is going on? Do I know Lance McClain? What would he wear to a party? What flavor ice cream would he pick? What is his favorite color? Does he wear socks to bed? What got him into tattoos? Why does he like talking to me so much?

“Keith?” he dragged out, almost in a teasing voice. “You okay, Flower Boy?”

“’The flower is the stem’s cry of beauty to the universe.’”

Silence.

“Who said that?” Lance asked, wonder in his eyes.

“I… don’t really remember… I saw it somewhere once, it was someone, but I don’t know who…” I ran a hand over the top of my head, patting down the hair that wanted to frizz. “Is that… um… okay?”

I had no idea what Lance was thinking. At the very least, he was weirded out. Maybe he thought I was a total poetry weirdo? I mean, am I or aren’t I? I probably count as one, but that’s definitely not the point, because at this point he’s got to think-

“That’s… perfect.”

I could only imagine the look I was giving him compared to the wonder he was giving me. His universe lit up again, and for a split second, just for a second, I imagined that it lit up for me.

Just for me…

That beautiful face…

“So… tomorrow, then?” I asked hesitantly.

We were stopped in the empty sidewalk. I don’t think either of us noticed. We were both still pointed forward but facing each other, our feet locked in place. We had done so without even questioning it, without even communicating it.

“I’m sure I can squeeze you in somewhere.” He smiled. “I am in high demand, you know.”

Then.

Holy shit, then.

He winked.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The heat in my face was like a literal furnace being piled with coal and then soaked in gasoline before tossing a 100 pack of BIC lighters onto it.

Specific, yet accurate.

“I… I’m sure…” I smiled back. I kept it this time. And he kept smiling at me, and I kept smiling at him.

And there we were. Two idiots standing in the middle of the sidewalk, smiling at each other, less than five feet apart. A lot less than five feet. A lot less… maybe less than one…

He smells like cigarette smoke, but also weirdly like vanilla extract. Maybe that’s his favorite candle? It was a thick smell, the kind that overpowers your nose and sort of lingers there long after you’ve left, and it kind of makes it hard to breathe but you don’t really notice because you’re so focused on the smell that you forget to breathe…

“Um…” He blushed.

Lance McClain blushed.

I could see the flush pooling in his cheeks, and I turned away and led us back into walking.

“How’d you start working at the flower shop?” he asked.

“Well… I was having a hard time finding work, and rent was getting pretty tight…” I cleared my throat, and mumbled the last part beneath my breath. “So I had a little bit of a breakdown in front of Shiro when he interviewed me for the job…”

“What? Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” My throat tightened. I almost wanted to cry admitting this out loud to anyone other than Shiro, who really didn’t need to be told because… you know.

He was there.

“Ahem… I…. had a breakdown… in front of Shiro… and he took me in, I guess…”

Lance was quiet for a second, then laughed. “Wow, and I thought I had a pity job.” 

“Pity job?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Allura is my best friend’s main artist. He’s a bartender, his name’s Hunk. I was having a hard time selling my art online, and Hunk thought I would be able to catch on pretty quick with Allura’s help-“

“You’re telling me,” I scoffed with another gargantuan grin, “that you just happened to pick up tattooing and have no formal education whatsoever?”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.”

I couldn’t help it. I cackled. I couldn’t even breathe. “You- You expect me to le-let you give me a tattoo now!?”

“Yeah, because you definitely trust me.” The smuggest look was on his face. His lips were turned upwards, his eyes were slightly narrowed…

“Oh, do I?”

“You do.”

“Prove it.”

“Would you let me walk home with you if you didn’t?”

Does he eat popcorn when he goes to movie theaters or does he only buy candy? Where did he get his first tattoo? Who does he live with? What holidays does he celebrate? Would he go roller skating and eat pizza on a date? What does he think is romantic? What does he see in the entire world that makes his eyes so bright? 

“Keith?” Lance had that same worried look he’d had earlier, and once again it was directed at me. He was worried about me. Me. He cared about me. I shook my head back into existence. “Keith, you okay?”

“Yeah… I’m good,” I said with a soft smile. Ahead of us were the steps to the apartment building I lived in. But it was too close. I wish we’d taken the way that just happened to be so out of the way through the park and maybe eaten spaghetti and listened to Italian music or something.

Or something.

“So… this is my place…” I pointed ahead to the brick building with white framed windows that had bars on the inside. Great image, right? Really gives off the ‘it’s not much, but it’s home’ vibe.

“I was starting to think you were taking me on a detour, Flower Boy.” He winked again. Does he have something in his eye? Is he intentionally winking at me?

God, I hope so.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lance.”

“See you then.”

Then the universe left for the night.

~~~~~~

 

Never have I ever gotten up on time. Obviously that’s a hyperbole, I think. I mean, I definitely get up early every now and then, and early is on time, technically, I guess. But usually, mornings start with half a leg in my jeans and the other dragging along with a toothbrush in my mouth and half a cup of coffee spilled on the counter.

I took the idea of hectic and put it on steroids.

Today, I was dressed, awake, and drinking coffee before the sun was up, staring at the clock on my kitchen counter and waiting for an acceptable time to leave the house to make sure I got to the Flower Shop after Shiro.

I was going to get a tattoo. From Lance McClain. Who has absolutely no technical training.

“What is wrong with me?” My forehead dropped onto the counter as I groaned.

Lance McClain… One of those people you look at and just… crave a connection with, even if it’s unbridled hatred. And that’s all I assumed I could get from someone like him… Someone like him, so social and friendly, all around approachable. You could give him two guns and a stick of dynamite and he’d still look like one of the most interesting people on the planet.

Well, I guess anyone holding dynamite and firearms at the same time leads an interesting life. Not that I’d ever met anyone who’d done that.

Lifting my head, I downed the rest of the coffee then reached over and dropped the mug into the sink. It made a small clatter but, just like always, didn’t break. With a heaving sigh, I slid out of the barstool and grabbed my key, cramming it into my pocket.

“Just… a guy, giving his almost sort of co-worker a tattoo… This is normal,” I opened the door and stepped out, locking it behind me. “I mean this is totally normal, people do this all the time,” my voice was barely over a mumble, and to any onlooker it was one-hundred percent obvious I was talking to myself.

When I got outside and met the usual herd of commuters, I walked like normal… and then I started to jog. People, for once, for the very first time, moved out of my way. Maybe this time they noticed me, and tried to think of what I was doing that day. 

Maybe I’d missed my bus, maybe I was late for work, or maybe I was excited to go somewhere that I don’t normally go.

And I was. I was beyond excited.

The store signs came into view within the half hour just as the sun fully emerged from the horizon. Walking past, I could just look into the tattoo parlor and see Lance with a broom in one hand as he hung up his usual blue down vest on a hook. He was talking to Allura with a smile.  
I smiled.

I couldn’t help it. Seeing his smile was the most infectious smile to every smile in the history of smiling. Then I could see his eyes look out the window and catch mine. His smile turned into a grin. I held up a hand and waved a small wave, and he waved back.

“One second,” I mouthed silently, pointing to the Flower Shop. He nodded and gave a thumbs up.

The store light was on and the closed sign was flipped to open. It was a Friday, and these days were some of the busiest days of the week for us. Date nights, relaxing ends to a stressful week, lots of occasions for flowers came up on a Friday.

Just like always, the bell rang as I stepped through the door.

“Keith?” Shiro sounded confused as he looked over from the cash register, counting the money. “You’re here early today.”  
“Um, actually, I wanted to ask if I could maybe have a longer break than normal…”

I forgot my messenger bag.

My hands went to grab onto the strap and it wasn’t there. I must have forgotten it at home. I didn’t have something to hold onto. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to find some sense of security.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

Clearing my throat, I admitted, “Lance is giving me a tattoo today.”

Impish Bastard. He smirked, then dropped the money and vaulted over the counter, using his good hand to ruffle my hair. “You’re getting inked! You’re growing up so fast!”

“Shiro, I’m twenty- “

“No, shush.” He pretended to wipe a tear, but it was hardly convincing since he didn’t bother to drop his smirking expression.

I stepped out from under his hand, subconsciously patting the top of my head. “Okay, yeah, yeah, I got it, I’m like twelve, now can I go?”  
Shiro laughed, his normal smile returning. “Sure thing, just remember that once you get one tattoo, you’ll want more.”

I rolled my eyes. “Doubt it.”

The bell rang again as I stepped out the door, leaving Shiro with the day’s work. At least most of it, I’d probably be back before the store closed. Probably.

What does that even mean, Keith? Of course you will, it’s just a tattoo! Not like you’re going to show up and just suddenly go on a date or something. That’s not how things work. Right? I know less than nothing on this.

Not once in the four months I’d worked next to the Parlor had I ever stepped inside. Never. I’d never even opened the door. But stepping inside that parlor, with the somewhat dim lighting and the dark walls, felt like an entirely different reality.

Allura, who was sitting on a swivel stool beside a recliner, turned to look at the person who had stepped in. Funnily enough, me.

I’d only seen her once up close, but it was entirely different in the parlor. Her white hair looked like it was glowing, her eccentric makeup almost like UV light. She had pinks and purples around her blue eyes, and her all black outfit was accentuated with golden glitter. It was like someone with a confetti canon of sparkle goddess bad-assery just launched a grenade at her. Not to mention the never-ending tattooed sleeves that didn’t seem to stop on her arms, going past the muscle-tanks given view and continuing on her torso.

“Hi! Keith, right? Lance mentioned you’d be coming in!” Her voice was so… chirpy? Happy? She had some kind of accent, but I had absolutely no clue what it was.

“Uh, yeah, you’re Allura?”

“That’s me! Lance just went into the back for a second, he should be out soon!”

“Thanks.” What else do I say. Congratulations?

She nodded with a cheery grin and spun around in her stool. I looked over to the only other set up seat and noticed a few things about Lance’s station.

One: there were a lot of picture frames. Two: these picture frames all had the same people who looked exactly like Lance. Three: he had sketches next to every one with a specific type of flower. Four: there was one flower that didn’t have any picture by it. It was a hydrangea.  
“Keith! You didn’t chicken out, huh?”

I jumped, spinning around to come face to face with none other than the Motherfucker himself. His freckles were invisible with the lighting, but his eyes seemed to glow in a different way. The dark brown just became… became… captivating…

I couldn’t look away as I stammered out, “W-wouldn’t dream of it.”

He smiled. He was wearing a muscle tank like Allura’s that had the Parlor’s logo on it: a geometric deer in a minimalist style. It was pretty cool looking, except his was in a spectrum of colors while hers was just golden.

I sat down on the chair, letting my legs hang over the edge. “So, uh… what now?”

Lance rolled his eyes, looking all around amused. He sat down on his stool and rolled closer to a two-shelved cart, which also had wheels. “For starters, where do you want it?” He reached down to the bottom and grabbed a box of black rubber gloves, grabbing a pair and pulling them onto his hands with a strange efficiency.

My mouth froze open for a moment. I hadn’t really thought of that. At all. “Probably, somewhere easy to hide?”  
“Alright, no sleeves, no lower legs- “

“Actually, I was thinking right across the forehead,” I blurted out.

Allura started cackling from the other side of the shop, and when we both looked over at her, she covered her mouth with her hand.  
“Sorry! Sorry! I’m not here!” she scooted away. Who is this woman?

Lance shook his head and chuckled, then looked back up at me. It was weird seeing his face from a higher angle. It was kind of nice. The shadows caught just right on all the sharp angles, and for once I could see every shape clearly.

“How about the back?” he suggested. He definitely used a lot of Chapstick, and no I wasn’t looking at his lips while he was talking. A hand went up to my dried lips a bit nervously. I quickly pulled it back down onto my lap.

“Too much like a tramp stamp,” I disagreed.

“Thigh?”

“Not a teenage girl.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he joked, and I couldn’t resist reaching out and pushing his stool back with my foot. He rolled a few inches away, laughing at me. I smiled back. “Fine, no thigh. Ass?”

“I’m not letting you tattoo my ass, McClain.”

“Not this time.”

This time.

“Chest then. Unless you want me to tattoo your- “

“Chest! Chest is good!”

Lance snorted, then stood up and walked over to the sketch without a picture. “I was thinking about your quote, and I didn’t want to do just plain text, you know?”

I actually did not know, but I nodded anyway.

“So, I looked up some flower symbolism, and I saw these rose-looking…”

“Are you telling me you don’t know what a hydrangea is?” I wanted to smack him and laugh at him simultaneously.

“That’s what they’re called? I thought it was like, a carnation.” He looked genuinely pleased to have gained this knowledge, and all I could do was sigh in exasperation.

“Keep going.”

“Right! Yeah, so I saw this, and I was like, wow, this pink would look really nice with your skin and your hair and compliment your eyes really well, so I thought maybe you could have one or two on the sides of the quote?”

He… thought about my face? What did he think about it? Did he see anything as amazing in my face as I saw in his? Did he see a universe in mine?

“Whatever you think is good.” I could barely make coherent words.

Lance looked so thrilled I thought he would explode. “Great! Take off your shirt.”

“Um. What?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t give you a tattoo through flannel.” He had to have noticed my hesitation, because he added in a softer tone, “It’s only me.”

I wanted to add that Allura was definitely in earshot as she hadn’t scooted very far out of sight, but it didn’t feel appropriate. So, I took off my flannel and set it on the armrest, then took off the black undershirt.

Wow. Fuck. I hated this.

I felt way colder. A whole lot colder. And also, a lot more uncomfortable. I don’t know why Lance thought saying it was ‘just him’ would make me feel better, because it was him! Lance McClain! He isn’t ‘just’ anything, he’s always… always Lance, I guess. Yeah…

“See? You’re still alive!” Lance’s voice sounded a bit distracted as he quickly looked away, messing with some tools on his little roller cart. “Now just lie back on the chair and I’ll lean it back.”

My arms were crossed over my chest, trying to cling to the last shred of comfort I had left. But I uncrossed them. And I did what he said, and sat properly with my arms by my sides. I felt weird. Not even good or bad weird, just a really strange weird.

“First tattoo, right?” Lance seemed to just be trying to make conversation as he reclined the chair to the point where I was flat on my back, then making his stool a little taller. “Scared?”

“Scared shitless,” I admitted honestly, staring up at him once again. I felt so exposed. Really exposed. An entirely different kind of exposed than I would if had asked me why I didn’t know if my father had quit smoking or not. Lance wouldn’t do that, he was too polite.

“Don’t be, you’re in good hands.” He grinned, then I saw it. The machine. It was big and scary looking, but seeing Lance pick it up with such care and affection humanized it. The metal was all blue, a light blue with different shadings and variants on different parts. “Plus, Blue and I are a pretty good team.”

“B-blue?”

He held it up. “Yeah, Blue!” With a childish look on his face he admired it. “She is definitely the best thing I’ve ever owned.”

She.

I thought back to my bike. I called my bike She. Shiro laughed at me for it sometimes.

Ripping me from my thoughts was Lance’s hand on my chest. Or, actually, a wipe on my chest that Lance’s hand was on the other side of, basically Lance touching my chest with a strange sense of detached intimacy that was all around uncomfortably professional.

“Just sterilizing the area,” he mumbled, barely moving his mouth. Yeah. I’m totally watching his mouth. His lips weren’t dry at all, and I bet if I looked hard enough I could find at least three different flavored Chapstick’s. By the way, why are they called ‘flavors’ if you aren’t supposed to eat them? The area the wipe went over was left slightly damp, but felt like it was drying quickly. Definitely rubbing alcohol… I think? It didn’t smell like it.

“So, you ready to go?” Ink was open on the cart and his stool was right next to me. He was right over me, so close that I could feel his breath on my skin.

“Wait, don’t you have to, like, draw lines or something?”

He scoffed. “No way, I’m going to freehand it.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Freehand? It means- “

“No, I know what it means but this is permanent on my body- “

“Just trust me, Keith.” His face was almost pleading. “Trust me.”

I closed my mouth and stared. After a few seconds, I nodded my head once. Why do I trust this motherfucker?

“Alright, let’s get ‘er done.” And then his free hand was on the right side of my chest, his eyes glazed over. With a gentle touch, Blue’s needle began to beat up and down, ink fresh on its point. The thrumming wasn’t a soothing one, and before I could stop myself I reached up a hand to grab his wrist.

“Wait, um…”

There is no sexual tension. There is no sexual tension. There is no sexual tension. If I have to mantra it then it’s not true. Fuck.  
Blue’s beat stopped, and Lance looked at me, concerned. “You okay?”

“I… just um… How badly is this going to hurt?” It was a sincere question, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t somewhat a little bit reveling in the fact that Lance hadn’t pulled away from me at all, not even a little bit.

He gave a relaxed smile. “Lean back, and start talking to me about something. Anything.”

“What?”

“Just do it, Flower boy.” The tone he used wasn’t harsh, if anything it was light-hearted.

So, obviously, I did. I leaned my neck back and let go of his wrist. The thrumming didn’t start. “I hate winter.”

“Really? Why?” He sounded so interested in the conversation, just effortlessly.

“I don’t like snow very much. I like the dry weather, just not when it’s so cold.”

“I don’t like cold that much either, but I love snow.” He chuckled fondly. “Me and my siblings used to make igloos for hours in our yard, we’d come inside with runny noses and frozen toes.” I didn’t even notice that Blue had started up again. “Mama, we’d say, come look! And she would shake her head and laugh and tell us that we were idiots for staying outside so long, but she’d come and look anyway.”

Lance’s mother sounded like a wonderful mother to have.

“So what season do you like,” he asked.

“Fall,” my response was immediate. “I like the crisp air and the warm colors.”

“Why not spring?”

A heavy pinch pricked at my chest and repeated over and over, and I bit my lip to keep from flinching, making my hands into fists.  
“Too humid. I hate humidity.”

“I’m sure you do- that mullet must have some wicked volume.”

I scoffed, and I could feel the exhale of his quiet laughter on my skin. I’d been trying to avoid looking at his face, because that would be even more awkward than the whole wrist grabbing… thing. Of course, there’s sexual tension if your shirtless on your back looking up at a guy whose hand is on your chest and you’re less than a foot apart what the hell is the matter with you, Keith!?

“Is Spring your favorite?” I asked in response.

“I like to think of myself as more of an Early Summer Late Spring kinda guy.” His volume dropped as he focused on the work in front of him.

“What’s good about that?”

“What’s good about that!?” he repeated in complete shock. “Everything! Not only are all the new plants alive, but they’re bloomed and thriving, and the sun is out and the days are longer,” he began to go on a tangent on the apparent wonders of this season limbo. “Not to mention people just seem happier in the summer. Y’know, it’s a less stressful time of year.”

“Well, y’know,” I mimicked his tone of voice, “there is a specific group of flowers referred to as Spring Flowers that die at the end of May or June. So not all life is thriving.”

“You realize that I’m controlling a rapidly paced needle that I’m stabbing you with repeatedly, right?”

“Painfully aware.”

He smiled and rolled his eyes, focusing in on the lines he continued to make. The pain kind of faded into the background. “Then don’t mock my seasonal preferences.”

“Whatever you say, McLame.”

Then came the point where we stopped talking. Lance was so entirely focused on his work that he just forgot to reply, or maybe had nothing else to say. His eyes were somewhat fogged over and his eyelashes were tangled together, but only at the very edge because they weren’t fully closed, just half-lidded. His lips switched from being tightly pressed together to entirely relaxed.

Just watching him work, doing what he looked so comfortable doing, was enough to distract from the needle stabbing me over a thousand times a minute.

It was almost weird having him leaning over me like this so comfortably. I mean, sure, we’ve been almost sort of kind of co-workers for a while now. Nope, that doesn’t justify the perfect view I have right now, completely unobstructed.

His skin looked like firewood, weirdly enough. Bear with me. It was really warm, but kind of smoky looking. The freckles on his face were so much easier to see up close. They connected lines from every angle on his face. He even had a perfect triangle on his left cheek right in the middle.

Fuck, I am so into him.

How have I avoided this? Why have I avoided this? Did I even feel this way before yesterday?

I knew the answer.

“You holding in there?” Lance asked, bringing me back to the world. “You zone out a lot, just checking in.”

“Yeah, all good.”

How long have I liked him?

“Great. I’m done with the quote anyway.” He scooted his stool away, rolling to his cart and fidgeting with some cloth.

“Already?” I didn’t try to sit up, feeling the tightness of the skin on my chest. It didn’t hurt, necessarily, but it wasn’t great. Kind of like a lot of bee stings in the same place. Which does hurt, I guess.

“What do you mean, already? Not like you were asking me to copy the Constitution or whatever.” He left Blue on the cart, rolling back to raise the back of my seat. “How’re you feeling?”

“Surprisingly okay.” That was a lie. I felt better than okay. Because in that moment, however long it was, I wasn’t afraid to have feelings for someone anymore. I could admit it to myself that I was afraid and resorted to what I knew- lashing out and pushing away. I didn’t want to do that anymore, not to him.

“Bet you’d be feeling better if you have a document written by our founding father’s as a tramp stamp but hey,” he held up his hands, “just my two cents.” Lance slid back over to his cart, screwing a lid on something and closing a Tupperware.

I scoffed, grabbing my flannel and putting it on, leaving it unbuttoned and without the undershirt. When Lance turned back around, there are few earthly things to describe the shade of his face. A firetruck would be a good one, or maybe mars’ surface, but that’s not earthly.  
Say something, Keith! What would… What would Lance do?

“Uh…” I thought for a second, snapping Lance out of his… trance? “Problem?”

Lance Charles McClain started to stammer. He was stumbling over his words worse than I did when I had to read out loud in high school. He was blushing, stammering, and being less than subtle about where he was looking.

I was already redder than a fucking beet. Or whatever that red root vegetable is.

“P-problem? N-no, definitely not. Problem? Me? No way. Not ever. I’m good. Totally. Fine. Just call me Mr. Cool.”

“Mr. Cool?”

“Uh…” Lance began to look around for help, but Allura was gone and the shop was empty. “You have work today, right?”

“Shiro gave m- “

“A longer break! How nice of him! Well, you shouldn’t take advantage of that, up we go!” He practically dragged me off the seat, grabbing another wipe from his cart and some… cling wrap? His hand wiped the tattoo with sloppy proficiency and he dropped the box of cling wrap into my arms.

“Get Shiro or someone to wrap it and use Aquaphor on it or something!”

“Lance, is everything o- “

“Yes! Fine! Mr. Cool, remember! See you... sometime!”

And then, somehow, I was outside. My flannel was unbuttoned and my undershirt was abandoned inside. I had a box of cling wrap in my hand. My mouth was open. My face wasn’t red anymore.

Why did I feel like I was just kicked out?

Wasn’t I?

I thought he was… No. Guess not. He must have been embarrassed to have someone like me in there.

That’s it. He was embarrassed. Of me.

I didn’t notice I was squeezing the cardboard until the built in serrated edge started to poke at my palm. I closed my mouth, looked to the ground, then walked into the Flower Shop. The bell rang.

I was still looking down.

The bell rang again when the door closed.

“Keith? I knew Lance was fast, but two hours is…” I could hear him trail off, then his boots came into view on the floor. “Keith? You there?”  
I held up the box of plastic wrap.

Shiro took it from my hand, then guided me to the back room. I sat down. He didn’t say anything. He got a tub of cream from somewhere, I guess that’s what Aquaphor is, and put it on my chest, then took off my left shirt sleeve to wrap the tattoo.

I felt like a baby. I felt kind of weird, more than kind of, but like my chest was too heavy and really empty at the same time. Like I was being crushed but also sucked dry. It was weird. It was too much.

“Do you need to go home? I can drive you.” Shiro’s offer was silent, and Keith knew there was no shame in accepting. It isn’t like anyone would come to the store while he was gone anyway.

The bell rang. Then the door closed. Then the bell rang again.

Both our heads perked and looked at the door, and there was Lance, looking around. He didn’t see us and leaned on the counter for a bit. We sat in silence, watching. Several moments later, he walked back out.

The bell rang. Then the door closed. Then the bell rang again.

“Did something happen?” Shiro turned back to me, more skeptical than before.

I shrugged. He seemed unconvinced.

“Keith, are you okay?”

I shrugged again. Lamely, I put my shirt back on and put on my best scowl. Pushing off the seat, I went to the front of the store, buttoning up the flannel. “I’ll do register.”

Shiro knew not to argue, but there was a look of desperate concern in his eyes. “Okay.”

I can only describe the feeling as painful, but also somewhat surreal. I could recall what I thought, what would Lance do, then everything immediately going to shit. My skin, all of it, felt like there were tiny pins poking and pricking. I wanted to hide in a hole or a ditch or something, anything. The burning inside hurt worse than the increasing throb of the tattoo.

The flower is the stem’s cry of beauty to the universe.

Some cry the flower made.

I shook my head once, twice, then sat down on the stool behind the register. Through the window, just the edge of Lance’s body was visible since he leaned against the wall. Propped on his side was his elbow, and between his fingers he twirled a cigarette. Unlit.

Now that I’d thought about it, Lance hadn’t been smoking in the morning when he arrived, like he almost always did, and he hadn’t taken a break in the two hours we spent in the parlor. And here, afterwards, he still wasn’t smoking.

Squinting, I rested my weight on the counter, waiting to see what could happen next. Just when Lance stopped the twirling, Shiro blocked my view.

“Keith, listen.” I tried to look around him, but he effectively stood in the way. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you seemed really excited this morning, and the tattoo looks great, I just don’t know what’s wrong.”

I admitted defeat, crossing my arms before realizing that it was immensely uncomfortable and leaving them on the counter. Running a quick hand through my hair, I grumbled, “Just a misunderstanding, Shiro. No big deal.”

Unimpressed is a good descriptor. “No big deal, huh?” His prosthetic crossed awkwardly over his chest in cooperation with his ink canvas. “Then why are you acting like someone just sold your bike on eBay?”

“I’d be acting a lot differently if someone sold her on eBay…” There was enough snark in the natural retort, but I managed to keep going. “She deserves Amazon, at least.”

Shiro huffed out a quiet laugh- I couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Sure, Keith.”

The bell rang again. The door closed. The bell rang again.

“Uh…”

I didn’t have to look over to know that it was Lance, but Shiro did anyway. I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Oh, hey, Lance. Can we do something for you?” Something seemed off in his voice, something that sounded almost biting. Was Shiro being… passive aggressive? I tried to force my growing smirk into a frown, but I knew it didn’t help the smug impression.

Lance cleared his throat. It was impossible to ignore the feeling of him looking at me.

Stop it. Stop looking at me.

Sweat began to bead at the back of my neck, on the base of my hairline. Sub-consciously, I started scratching at the inside of my left wrist.

“Uh… Yeah. Yeah, I uh… need a bouquet.”

It took a lot of self-control to bite down on the inside of my cheek to hold in any comment. Those words hurt a little bit.

Who was he getting a bouquet for? Why did he need a bouquet?

Shiro chuckled. “Forget something, did we?”

“Strangely no,” Lance scoffed.

Weird.

Usually when someone gets flowers, it’s because they forgot something and are trying to make up for it. Or maybe they’re just lacking entirely and are trying to make up for it, if you get what I’m saying.

“Alright, then what kind of bouquet do you need?”

I tuned it out. I didn’t want to know if he wanted something romantic, apologetic, grieving, friendly. I wanted to not care. I pushed the sound out. I wasn’t afraid to feel upset. In feeling upset, I felt better. I could retreat back to what I knew.

The counter had ornate designs I never noticed, most of the scratched in on the customer’s side. Maybe they’d been bored and started etching with a nail. Maybe they were fed up with the service and decided to amuse themselves. Maybe they just absentmindedly fiddle with things.

At the thought, I stopped scratching the now pinkish-red skin on my wrist.

I recognized one of the etchings. A hydrangea.

One was supposed to be on the edge of my tattoo, but he didn’t add that. Was I supposed to go back another day? Would he have told me that if he hadn’t… if I hadn’t messed it up?

Hydrangeas symbolize-

“This is it for me,” Lance broke me from the thought, dropping one of the most hideous bouquets in the entire galaxy on the counter. Hydrangeas, Hyacinths, Heather, Lavender, a shit ton of Asters, and a single Anemone. Shiro had to have let him organize this himself because it was grotesque in presentation.

“So, I’m about to apologize, just wait till the end okay?”

Wait, what?

From the corner of my eye I could see Shiro slink off to the backroom.

Lance cleared his throat. “These,” he pointed to the heather and lavender, “represent solitude, beauty, admiration, and protection.” He didn’t face me, staring only at the flowers. “I thought the solitude and beauty were good for… you. And I admire you, a little bit.”

Lance rubbed his hairline. “Um… I know it’s kind of weird, but when I sketched you,” he was grasping for words, I could tell. They were on the tip of his tongue but shackled by the restrictions of the English language. “You have this pensive look, one that… I don’t know.” He started to chew on his lips, and I could tell they had fresh Chapstick on them. I could almost smell it. I guessed he used a cheap brand from Five Below flavored like soda.

“You almost look like your staring into something that no one else can see. You do it when you look at flowers, people, and last night you did it to me.”

I did? I do that?

“And I don’t know what it’s about, but when you do that,”

What?

“I see,”

This can’t be happening.

“The universe. Almost like it’s trapped in your eyes, banging on the walls to get out.”

I could feel tears threatening the back of my eyes. My throat felt choked.

“You get these… stars that just show up on your face and your eyes turn into planets and for a second you look bigger than anything, anyone. Like you know the fate of the entire galaxy, and you know the beauty of it all.”

Lance, at this point, was on a rant. He was staring directing at me. I don’t even know when I had looked up to stare back at him.

“When you said the quote, ‘The flower is the stem’s cry of beauty to the universe’, I couldn’t believe how fitting it was, because you, the Universe, working here in this shop,” he motioned to all the flowers around us, “surrounded by beauty but impressed by none of it… The flower cries to be noticed, but you can’t hear it, can’t appreciate it.”

My lips began to part in, admittedly, awe.

“I want you to appreciate, Keith. The world is here, it’s right here for anyone to see it, to appreciate its beauty and life and love.”

The word love sounded natural coming from his mouth. It meant something to him, or at least he’d said it many times before.

“We have to take advantage of it.”

He looked expectant, and not with the pregnant kind.

Definitely not the pregnant kind.

“I’m sorry for forcing you out,” he continued when I remained silent, only staring. “I was scared to admit- “

“Admit what?” I broke my silence, and my voice cracked only slightly in my faint whisper. Joy crinkled Lance’s eyes.

“I… I um…” He blew out a puff of air. “Wow, this was a lot easier to say in my head.”

“So, this is harder than that poetry you just made up on the spot?”

“Well…” he turned red, “I’ve been thinking of that since last night.”

“Oh.”

“I like you,” he blurted out. “And I have, kind of a while.”

“O-oh.”

This was a lot. Almost too much. Just almost. You know that scene in The Grinch where his heart grows three sizes in like, two seconds? You get the idea.

“Y-yeah.”

And there we were. Two idiots with a counter between them that had a horrible bouquet on it.

“A-anyway… um…” Lance looked back at the bouquet.

I was grinning like a madman. And maybe I was one. I could deal with that. Lance continued on with his flower symbolism, until the last type remained.

“Hydrangeas…” This one seemed to make him the most nervous, funnily enough. They were the most numerous in the bouquet, but maybe that’s because they were the largest in size. “They symbolize- “

“Heartfelt emotion,” I interrupted. I couldn’t explain the feeling if I tried. I wanted to throw up, cry, and kiss him at the same time. Well hopefully not at the same time- that would totally ruin anything at all going on.

Again. He looked up, I looked back. The Universe stared into itself, and in meeting its own gaze, it saw all the beauty, life, and love it had to offer.

The Universe heard the stem’s cry.

“I like you too, Lance.”

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about getting a tattoo, so sorry for all the mistakes!
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments about anything! Positive or negative welcome!


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